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I crawled forward (it’s hard to move in a partially inflated ball) and reached out for the hatch handle. Since my ball wasn’t fully rigid, I could bend the skin just enough to grip the hatch. I held on with both hands as the pressure tried to pry me loose.
The ball grew more rigid as the airlock vented, making it harder and harder to hang on to the handle. That rubber really wanted to be a sphere now. It didn’t approve of me wrapping it around a handle.
I came close to losing my grip a couple of times but managed to keep hold. Finally, the airlock pressure got low enough that I could pull the door open.
The remaining air whooshed out and my ball sprang into full rigidity. It slapped my hands away from the edge so hard I actually fell on my ass. But it didn’t matter. I was safely in my hamster ball and the airlock was open.
I got back up and something scraped against my leg. It was the pipe I’d appropriated from Lefty. In all the excitement I’d forgotten I even still had it. Generally not a good idea to bring a pointy stick into your inflatable life support system, but it was too late to do anything about that now. I tightened my belt to make sure the pipe was secure. Wouldn’t want it slipping out.
I checked the scurry pack. All was well. Remember, they’re designed to be worn by tourists. They take care of everything on their own.
I ventured out onto the surface.
For all its limitations, a hamster ball is great for running in. No clunky boots, no thick suit legs to push around, no lugging around a hundred kilograms of gear. None of that. Just me in normal clothes with a moderately heavy backpack.
I got up to speed and rolled across the terrain. Whenever I hit a bump, I bounced into the air (well, not “air,” but you know what I mean). There was a reason tourists paid thousands of slugs for this. In other circumstances it would have been fun as hell.
I ran along the arc of Conrad Bubble until Bean came into view. I beelined for Bean, then followed its perimeter.
I tapped my earpiece to make sure it was on. “How’s it coming, Dale?”
“Sanchez is suited up and I’ve driven us to the Shepard–Bean Connector. About to exit the rover. You?”
“Almost there.”
I rounded the edge of Bean and saw Shepard come into view. I kept following Bean’s wall to the connector tunnel. Dale, at the wall of the connector, spotted me and waved. Bob’s rover stood parked nearby. Through the windows, I could see Sanchez sitting awkwardly in my suit. I scampered to the connector and checked my Gizmo. Fifteen minutes left.
Dale crouched down and put both arms under my bubble. “On three,” he s
aid.
I coiled, ready to leap.
“One…two…three!”
We timed it perfectly. I jumped a fraction of a second before he flung the bubble upward with all his strength. So I kicked against the ground, flew up, and Dale threw the ball to match me. My ball and I vaulted over the connector with ease. Of course, I bounced around like an idiot when I landed on the other side.
Dale climbed over the connector with practiced ease by using its many handrails. He landed next to me just as I got back up.
With Bean and Shepard behind us, we faced the smaller dome of Armstrong ahead. The external tanks stood to one side, partially hidden by their complicated network of pipes and valves.
“My face itches,” said Sanchez over the radio.
“Sucks to be you,” I said. Dale and I headed for the tanks.
“This suit is quite uncomfortable,” Sanchez continued. “Can’t I just close the rover hatch, pressurize, and wait for you in comfort?”
“No,” said Dale. “Always have the rover ready for quick entry. That’s how we do things.”
She grumbled to herself but didn’t press the issue.
I rolled to the first line of pipes. Three huge, looming pressure tanks dominated the structure. Each one had LANDVIK stenciled along the side.
I pointed to the middle of four valves on the nearest pipe. “Turn this valve all the way off.”
“Off?!” Dale asked.
“Yeah, off. Just trust me. These pipes have blowout zones, cleaning access, and a bunch of other shit that makes it a mess to deal with.”
